


Family ties

by Winxhelina



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fiction, Gen, Introductions & Chapters, Literature, Mystery & Suspense, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:56:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winxhelina/pseuds/Winxhelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new murder case is hitting London, bringing John´s sister Harriet into focus as potential victim. At the same time, Mycroft is recovering from a heart attack, and Sherlock has to take care of his brother, a panicking Watson and the new case all at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for SweetLittleVampire for writing that summary. I really suck at summaries.

Chapter 1

“Don’t be absurd, John!” Sherlock sulked at the backseat of the cab as they were driving towards the hospital. 

“You’re the one being absurd, Sherlock, it’s your own brother!” 

“Exactly! Can you really handle two of the Holmes brothers under the same roof?”

John smirked as he thought over this, indeed this was going to be very interesting and nerve-racking. Probably more nerve-racking than interesting actually.  He shook these thoughts away as he replied:” He’s family and he had a heart attack. You can’t just leave him. Besides - It won’t be long.”

“He has plenty of people to take care of him! Why must it be us?” Sherlock wondered aloud. 

“Because – Sherlock – family.” John sighed. True, he wasn’t all that happy about the prospect either, he knew how the two brothers got along and he wasn’t all that sure if it would in fact be good for Mycroft’s health to spend that much time with Sherlock. It wasn’t really good for anyone’s health. 

“Would you feel the same if it was Harry?” Sherlock interrupted, still sulking. 

“Of course!” the sincere answer came:” I may not be on best of terms with her, but she’s still my sister and I love her, even if living with her might not be something I enjoy.”

“I guess it must be because you’re a doctor. You feel the need to help anyone...” the brunette muttered. 

John didn’t bother on arguing and they sat the rest of the way in absolute silence. When they arrived after what seemed like an eternity the man with an umbrella and perfect black suit was already waiting for them. 

“Be nice,” John said, knowing his words were told in vain as Sherlock only snorted in reply. 

“Brother. John.” Mycroft greeted them as he sat in the front seat next to the driver. 

“Mycroft!” John welcomed him, trying his best to sound merry, while not a word came from the man next to him, he hardly looked at his eldest sibling. 

As they drove toward 221b Baker street an uncomfortable silence took place between them. It was Mycroft who decided to break that silence with words that coming from him somehow sounded equally akward: “Thank you, John. It’s kind of you to let me stay. I know it must have been your doing. I can’t imagine how you got Sherlock to agree, but thank you.”

“Oh it’s no trouble! He’s just fine with having you around!” an assuring, yet very obvious lie escaped John. In fact it was so painfully obvious that after a moment of silence all three of them, even Sherlock, burst into laughter. 

“Yes, I’m sure he’s delighted.” Mycroft smiled. 

“Beaming with joy, my dear brother,” Sherlock commented, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’ve lived together before . Is the British goverment going to be okay without you, Mycroft?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure they’ll do fine They can contact me any time they like.”

John gave Mycroft a disapproving look:”You know, you really shouldn’t be working, right now. “

“John, do you really want him to be bored as well?” Sherlock asked. 

“Oh, have you been bored? I do remember offering you a case a week ago and you said to have been very busy” the elder brother recalled. 

“He was preoccupied  with driving me insane with his constant complaining,” John explained. 

“Seriously, brother. The case was an insult – the murderer was so obvious even Anderson could  have seen it!” Sherlock raised his voice in the back seat.

“Yes, it was the sister rather obviously wasn’t it?” 

“Half-sister, yes”

“Wait,” John managed to put in “If you knew who the murderer was, why send Sherlock on the case in the first place?”

“Legwork, I need someone to prove it” Mycroft replied simply. 

John rolled his eyes, wanting to draw Mycroft’s attention to the fact that he also had legs. It seemed like a long way, but they finally made it to Baker street.

Mrs Hudson merrily greeted them all at the door, seemingly being the only one happy about Mycroft stay: ”Well, this will be a bit grouded, won’t it? But I’m sure you’ll manage.”

John forced a brief smile, then making his way to the living room. The two brothers followed, both crashing themselves on the couch. 

For a moment John thought that this whole thing wasn’t too bad, until he found himself standing in the middle of a fairly akward silence. That until Sherlock’s phone went off and with it his face lit up: “It’s Lestrade.” He jumped up from the couch and put on his coat and scarf, before dashing out. 

“Do you want me to come along?” John cried after him. 

“Yes! Of course. Mycroft can have Mrs Hudson make some tea,” Sherlock cast another look at his phone recieving another message from Lestrade, frowning slightly as he typed in his reply. John was already getting dressed, but Sherlock stopped him: “Actually, I think I might just go ahead. It seems an obvious one anyways.”

John cast a confused look on his friend, he could tell Sherlock was lying, he was smiling,  a sad smile and there was a compassionate look taking over his face for a brief moment. John couldn’t deduct any reason as to why he would lie, but it was still very clear:”Okay,” he replied, dumbfounded and Sherlock left the flat in a hurry, but no longer seeming excited. 

“Well that was odd,” he said, looking after the man from the window. Mycroft was flipping through his own cell and from the way his face reflected suprise John knew that he was looking at Sherlock’s texts. 

“You know what’s going on. Why won’t you tell me.”The former army doctor seemed rather upset about the fact that he was being left out from something that was clearly shocking even to Sherlock and his brother. Did they think it was too much for him to handle?

Mycroft raised his gaze:”I’m sorry, John.”

“What for?”

“It’s Harriet...”

“Who is?”

“The victim , John” John’s face grew pale and without a second thought he dashed outside after Sherlock, who had only managed to hail a cab and was getting in, John sat next to him.

“Bloody Mycroft!” Sherlock hissed through clemched teeth:”Lestrade was going to tell you in a nice sensitive way! Besides it’s no help if you come to the crime scene in that kind of state.”

“Why couldn’t you have told me?” John’s voice was shaky as tears began to slide down his cheeks. 

“Well that wouldn’t have been nice nor sensitive and John – I really think you should not come. The victim was set on fire! It might not be a good idea for you to see your sister like that!”

“Well, I want to come. I really do. I want to witness you catching whoever did this. God...” Sherlock didn’t argue any futher, he akwardly placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder hoping to provide however ridiculously small amount of comfort as John tried to pull himself together!”

“Oh for crying out loud, Sherlock! I told you not to bring him!” Lestrade threw his hands up in the air as he saw the army doctor:” Have you got no compassion!?”

“You can blame my brother for the lack of compassion!” came a loud reply. “Now. Show. Me. The body!” The moment Sherlock and John were taken to the scene where a horribly burnt and deformed body lay, Sherlock’s angry impression turned into a smile and then laughter:” Who was that poor daft being who thought this to be Harriet Watson?” he asked. 

“It was Anderson. Sherlock, as much as it would please us all for this not to be Harriet, we found her ID and cell-phone... how can you be so sure it isn’t her?” 

A smile was now forming on John’s face, as much as he felt sorry for whoever this poor soul was, if Sherlock said it wasn’t her sister, it wasn’t:” So it really isn’t her? I feel bad saying this being his brother and all, but she does look awful lot like my sister from what I can see and she is wearing her clothes.”

“Precicely, don’t you find it weird that while the corpse is burnt so bad that it is almost beyond recognition, the clothes are barely burnt at all, as well as the ID and the cell, all in near perfect condition, slightly damaged, but nowhere near as bad as they should be. “

“I thought something was off. So you’re suggesting someone wants us to think it was Harriet?”

“Obviously. Really I’m suprised you didn’t figure this out. And I’m the one lacking compassion, if you hadn’t screwed up this bad John wouldn’t have had to go through believing his sister is dead!”

“Relax, Sherlock. It’s all fine!” John was still standing there, smiling rather stupidly: ”Wait, so someone robbed my sister?”

“Mm,” Sherlock confirmed:” Your sister is a drunk so it must not be hard to snatch a few things from her in the pub when she’s in the correct state.”

“But to strip her?!”

“The clothes look old. So she might have thrown them out cleaning her closet and the killer simply picked them up.”

John nodded, believing the theory: “Indeed, she has had that dress for years.” 

“Yes. That also would have helped in giving you the illusion that it was her if needed, they had to be clothes you had seen her wear so that you’d think it’s her. Now that I think about it – forget the dumpster theory. The killer problably broke into your sister’s flat for these. Maybe snatched the keys along with other things. Call your sister to confirm.” Sherlock was back to using his old, calm, deductive voice. 

“Oh god, sis...” John groaned:” You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Tell her on the phone, John.  She won’t hear you from here.” Sherlock turned to leave: “See you when the next one comes in, Lestrade.”

“Wait. What about this one? If it’s not Harriet who is it?”

“Not important.”

“What do you mean it’s not important! Just because it isn’t John’s sister doesn’t make it meaningless!”

Sherlock turned:” Of course not, but the fact that the killer wanted us to believe she was Harry does. They picked a person at random, it didn’t matter who it was. As long as she could pass off as Miss Watson. The woman on the floor there is problably a prostitude, knowing who she is will hardly get us futher in the case. We have to wait for the next one.”

“Next one?!” Lestrade cried. 

“Yes, it’s a serial killer. Obviously.” And with those words Sherlock went to hail a cab to take himself and John back to Baker Street.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“Don’t be absurd, John!” Sherlock sulked at the backseat of the cab as they were driving towards the hospital. 

“You’re the one being absurd, Sherlock, it’s your own brother!” 

“Exactly! Can you really handle two of the Holmes brothers under the same roof?”

John smirked as he thought over this, indeed this was going to be very interesting and nerve-racking. Probably more nerve-racking than interesting actually.  He shook these thoughts away as he replied:” He’s family and he had a heart attack. You can’t just leave him. Besides - It won’t be long.”

“He has plenty of people to take care of him! Why must it be us?” Sherlock wondered aloud. 

“Because – Sherlock – family.” John sighed. True, he wasn’t all that happy about the prospect either, he knew how the two brothers got along and he wasn’t all that sure if it would in fact be good for Mycroft’s health to spend that much time with Sherlock. It wasn’t really good for anyone’s health. 

“Would you feel the same if it was Harry?” Sherlock interrupted, still sulking. 

“Of course!” the sincere answer came:” I may not be on best of terms with her, but she’s still my sister and I love her, even if living with her might not be something I enjoy.”

“I guess it must be because you’re a doctor. You feel the need to help anyone...” the brunette muttered. 

John didn’t bother on arguing and they sat the rest of the way in absolute silence. When they arrived after what seemed like an eternity the man with an umbrella and perfect black suit was already waiting for them. 

“Be nice,” John said, knowing his words were told in vain as Sherlock only snorted in reply. 

“Brother. John.” Mycroft greeted them as he sat in the front seat next to the driver. 

“Mycroft!” John welcomed him, trying his best to sound merry, while not a word came from the man next to him, he hardly looked at his eldest sibling. 

As they drove toward 221b Baker street an uncomfortable silence took place between them. It was Mycroft who decided to break that silence with words that coming from him somehow sounded equally akward: “Thank you, John. It’s kind of you to let me stay. I know it must have been your doing. I can’t imagine how you got Sherlock to agree, but thank you.”

“Oh it’s no trouble! He’s just fine with having you around!” an assuring, yet very obvious lie escaped John. In fact it was so painfully obvious that after a moment of silence all three of them, even Sherlock, burst into laughter. 

“Yes, I’m sure he’s delighted.” Mycroft smiled. 

“Beaming with joy, my dear brother,” Sherlock commented, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’ve lived together before . Is the British goverment going to be okay without you, Mycroft?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure they’ll do fine They can contact me any time they like.”

John gave Mycroft a disapproving look:”You know, you really shouldn’t be working, right now. “

“John, do you really want him to be bored as well?” Sherlock asked. 

“Oh, have you been bored? I do remember offering you a case a week ago and you said to have been very busy” the elder brother recalled. 

“He was preoccupied  with driving me insane with his constant complaining,” John explained. 

“Seriously, brother. The case was an insult – the murderer was so obvious even Anderson could  have seen it!” Sherlock raised his voice in the back seat.

“Yes, it was the sister rather obviously wasn’t it?” 

“Half-sister, yes”

“Wait,” John managed to put in “If you knew who the murderer was, why send Sherlock on the case in the first place?”

“Legwork, I need someone to prove it” Mycroft replied simply. 

John rolled his eyes, wanting to draw Mycroft’s attention to the fact that he also had legs. It seemed like a long way, but they finally made it to Baker street.

Mrs Hudson merrily greeted them all at the door, seemingly being the only one happy about Mycroft stay: ”Well, this will be a bit grouded, won’t it? But I’m sure you’ll manage.”

John forced a brief smile, then making his way to the living room. The two brothers followed, both crashing themselves on the couch. 

For a moment John thought that this whole thing wasn’t too bad, until he found himself standing in the middle of a fairly akward silence. That until Sherlock’s phone went off and with it his face lit up: “It’s Lestrade.” He jumped up from the couch and put on his coat and scarf, before dashing out. 

“Do you want me to come along?” John cried after him. 

“Yes! Of course. Mycroft can have Mrs Hudson make some tea,” Sherlock cast another look at his phone recieving another message from Lestrade, frowning slightly as he typed in his reply. John was already getting dressed, but Sherlock stopped him: “Actually, I think I might just go ahead. It seems an obvious one anyways.”

John cast a confused look on his friend, he could tell Sherlock was lying, he was smiling,  a sad smile and there was a compassionate look taking over his face for a brief moment. John couldn’t deduct any reason as to why he would lie, but it was still very clear:”Okay,” he replied, dumbfounded and Sherlock left the flat in a hurry, but no longer seeming excited. 

“Well that was odd,” he said, looking after the man from the window. Mycroft was flipping through his own cell and from the way his face reflected suprise John knew that he was looking at Sherlock’s texts. 

“You know what’s going on. Why won’t you tell me.”The former army doctor seemed rather upset about the fact that he was being left out from something that was clearly shocking even to Sherlock and his brother. Did they think it was too much for him to handle?

Mycroft raised his gaze:”I’m sorry, John.”

“What for?”

“It’s Harriet...”

“Who is?”

“The victim , John” John’s face grew pale and without a second thought he dashed outside after Sherlock, who had only managed to hail a cab and was getting in, John sat next to him.

“Bloody Mycroft!” Sherlock hissed through clemched teeth:”Lestrade was going to tell you in a nice sensitive way! Besides it’s no help if you come to the crime scene in that kind of state.”

“Why couldn’t you have told me?” John’s voice was shaky as tears began to slide down his cheeks. 

“Well that wouldn’t have been nice nor sensitive and John – I really think you should not come. The victim was set on fire! It might not be a good idea for you to see your sister like that!”

“Well, I want to come. I really do. I want to witness you catching whoever did this. God...” Sherlock didn’t argue any futher, he akwardly placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder hoping to provide however ridiculously small amount of comfort as John tried to pull himself together!”

“Oh for crying out loud, Sherlock! I told you not to bring him!” Lestrade threw his hands up in the air as he saw the army doctor:” Have you got no compassion!?”

“You can blame my brother for the lack of compassion!” came a loud reply. “Now. Show. Me. The body!” The moment Sherlock and John were taken to the scene where a horribly burnt and deformed body lay, Sherlock’s angry impression turned into a smile and then laughter:” Who was that poor daft being who thought this to be Harriet Watson?” he asked. 

“It was Anderson. Sherlock, as much as it would please us all for this not to be Harriet, we found her ID and cell-phone... how can you be so sure it isn’t her?” 

A smile was now forming on John’s face, as much as he felt sorry for whoever this poor soul was, if Sherlock said it wasn’t her sister, it wasn’t:” So it really isn’t her? I feel bad saying this being his brother and all, but she does look awful lot like my sister from what I can see and she is wearing her clothes.”

“Precicely, don’t you find it weird that while the corpse is burnt so bad that it is almost beyond recognition, the clothes are barely burnt at all, as well as the ID and the cell, all in near perfect condition, slightly damaged, but nowhere near as bad as they should be. “

“I thought something was off. So you’re suggesting someone wants us to think it was Harriet?”

“Obviously. Really I’m suprised you didn’t figure this out. And I’m the one lacking compassion, if you hadn’t screwed up this bad John wouldn’t have had to go through believing his sister is dead!”

“Relax, Sherlock. It’s all fine!” John was still standing there, smiling rather stupidly: ”Wait, so someone robbed my sister?”

“Mm,” Sherlock confirmed:” Your sister is a drunk so it must not be hard to snatch a few things from her in the pub when she’s in the correct state.”

“But to strip her?!”

“The clothes look old. So she might have thrown them out cleaning her closet and the killer simply picked them up.”

John nodded, believing the theory: “Indeed, she has had that dress for years.” 

“Yes. That also would have helped in giving you the illusion that it was her if needed, they had to be clothes you had seen her wear so that you’d think it’s her. Now that I think about it – forget the dumpster theory. The killer problably broke into your sister’s flat for these. Maybe snatched the keys along with other things. Call your sister to confirm.” Sherlock was back to using his old, calm, deductive voice. 

“Oh god, sis...” John groaned:” You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Tell her on the phone, John.  She won’t hear you from here.” Sherlock turned to leave: “See you when the next one comes in, Lestrade.”

“Wait. What about this one? If it’s not Harriet who is it?”

“Not important.”

“What do you mean it’s not important! Just because it isn’t John’s sister doesn’t make it meaningless!”

Sherlock turned:” Of course not, but the fact that the killer wanted us to believe she was Harry does. They picked a person at random, it didn’t matter who it was. As long as she could pass off as Miss Watson. The woman on the floor there is problably a prostitude, knowing who she is will hardly get us futher in the case. We have to wait for the next one.”

“Next one?!” Lestrade cried. 

“Yes, it’s a serial killer. Obviously.” And with those words Sherlock went to hail a cab to take himself and John back to Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment :)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 1

“Don’t be absurd, John!” Sherlock sulked at the backseat of the cab as they were driving towards the hospital. 

“You’re the one being absurd, Sherlock, it’s your own brother!” 

“Exactly! Can you really handle two of the Holmes brothers under the same roof?”

John smirked as he thought over this, indeed this was going to be very interesting and nerve-racking. Probably more nerve-racking than interesting actually.  He shook these thoughts away as he replied:” He’s family and he had a heart attack. You can’t just leave him. Besides - It won’t be long.”

“He has plenty of people to take care of him! Why must it be us?” Sherlock wondered aloud. 

“Because – Sherlock – family.” John sighed. True, he wasn’t all that happy about the prospect either, he knew how the two brothers got along and he wasn’t all that sure if it would in fact be good for Mycroft’s health to spend that much time with Sherlock. It wasn’t really good for anyone’s health. 

“Would you feel the same if it was Harry?” Sherlock interrupted, still sulking. 

“Of course!” the sincere answer came:” I may not be on best of terms with her, but she’s still my sister and I love her, even if living with her might not be something I enjoy.”

“I guess it must be because you’re a doctor. You feel the need to help anyone...” the brunette muttered. 

John didn’t bother on arguing and they sat the rest of the way in absolute silence. When they arrived after what seemed like an eternity the man with an umbrella and perfect black suit was already waiting for them. 

“Be nice,” John said, knowing his words were told in vain as Sherlock only snorted in reply. 

“Brother. John.” Mycroft greeted them as he sat in the front seat next to the driver. 

“Mycroft!” John welcomed him, trying his best to sound merry, while not a word came from the man next to him, he hardly looked at his eldest sibling. 

As they drove toward 221b Baker street an uncomfortable silence took place between them. It was Mycroft who decided to break that silence with words that coming from him somehow sounded equally akward: “Thank you, John. It’s kind of you to let me stay. I know it must have been your doing. I can’t imagine how you got Sherlock to agree, but thank you.”

“Oh it’s no trouble! He’s just fine with having you around!” an assuring, yet very obvious lie escaped John. In fact it was so painfully obvious that after a moment of silence all three of them, even Sherlock, burst into laughter. 

“Yes, I’m sure he’s delighted.” Mycroft smiled. 

“Beaming with joy, my dear brother,” Sherlock commented, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’ve lived together before . Is the British goverment going to be okay without you, Mycroft?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure they’ll do fine They can contact me any time they like.”

John gave Mycroft a disapproving look:”You know, you really shouldn’t be working, right now. “

“John, do you really want him to be bored as well?” Sherlock asked. 

“Oh, have you been bored? I do remember offering you a case a week ago and you said to have been very busy” the elder brother recalled. 

“He was preoccupied  with driving me insane with his constant complaining,” John explained. 

“Seriously, brother. The case was an insult – the murderer was so obvious even Anderson could  have seen it!” Sherlock raised his voice in the back seat.

“Yes, it was the sister rather obviously wasn’t it?” 

“Half-sister, yes”

“Wait,” John managed to put in “If you knew who the murderer was, why send Sherlock on the case in the first place?”

“Legwork, I need someone to prove it” Mycroft replied simply. 

John rolled his eyes, wanting to draw Mycroft’s attention to the fact that he also had legs. It seemed like a long way, but they finally made it to Baker street.

Mrs Hudson merrily greeted them all at the door, seemingly being the only one happy about Mycroft stay: ”Well, this will be a bit grouded, won’t it? But I’m sure you’ll manage.”

John forced a brief smile, then making his way to the living room. The two brothers followed, both crashing themselves on the couch. 

For a moment John thought that this whole thing wasn’t too bad, until he found himself standing in the middle of a fairly akward silence. That until Sherlock’s phone went off and with it his face lit up: “It’s Lestrade.” He jumped up from the couch and put on his coat and scarf, before dashing out. 

“Do you want me to come along?” John cried after him. 

“Yes! Of course. Mycroft can have Mrs Hudson make some tea,” Sherlock cast another look at his phone recieving another message from Lestrade, frowning slightly as he typed in his reply. John was already getting dressed, but Sherlock stopped him: “Actually, I think I might just go ahead. It seems an obvious one anyways.”

John cast a confused look on his friend, he could tell Sherlock was lying, he was smiling,  a sad smile and there was a compassionate look taking over his face for a brief moment. John couldn’t deduct any reason as to why he would lie, but it was still very clear:”Okay,” he replied, dumbfounded and Sherlock left the flat in a hurry, but no longer seeming excited. 

“Well that was odd,” he said, looking after the man from the window. Mycroft was flipping through his own cell and from the way his face reflected suprise John knew that he was looking at Sherlock’s texts. 

“You know what’s going on. Why won’t you tell me.”The former army doctor seemed rather upset about the fact that he was being left out from something that was clearly shocking even to Sherlock and his brother. Did they think it was too much for him to handle?

Mycroft raised his gaze:”I’m sorry, John.”

“What for?”

“It’s Harriet...”

“Who is?”

“The victim , John” John’s face grew pale and without a second thought he dashed outside after Sherlock, who had only managed to hail a cab and was getting in, John sat next to him.

“Bloody Mycroft!” Sherlock hissed through clemched teeth:”Lestrade was going to tell you in a nice sensitive way! Besides it’s no help if you come to the crime scene in that kind of state.”

“Why couldn’t you have told me?” John’s voice was shaky as tears began to slide down his cheeks. 

“Well that wouldn’t have been nice nor sensitive and John – I really think you should not come. The victim was set on fire! It might not be a good idea for you to see your sister like that!”

“Well, I want to come. I really do. I want to witness you catching whoever did this. God...” Sherlock didn’t argue any futher, he akwardly placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder hoping to provide however ridiculously small amount of comfort as John tried to pull himself together!”

“Oh for crying out loud, Sherlock! I told you not to bring him!” Lestrade threw his hands up in the air as he saw the army doctor:” Have you got no compassion!?”

“You can blame my brother for the lack of compassion!” came a loud reply. “Now. Show. Me. The body!” The moment Sherlock and John were taken to the scene where a horribly burnt and deformed body lay, Sherlock’s angry impression turned into a smile and then laughter:” Who was that poor daft being who thought this to be Harriet Watson?” he asked. 

“It was Anderson. Sherlock, as much as it would please us all for this not to be Harriet, we found her ID and cell-phone... how can you be so sure it isn’t her?” 

A smile was now forming on John’s face, as much as he felt sorry for whoever this poor soul was, if Sherlock said it wasn’t her sister, it wasn’t:” So it really isn’t her? I feel bad saying this being his brother and all, but she does look awful lot like my sister from what I can see and she is wearing her clothes.”

“Precicely, don’t you find it weird that while the corpse is burnt so bad that it is almost beyond recognition, the clothes are barely burnt at all, as well as the ID and the cell, all in near perfect condition, slightly damaged, but nowhere near as bad as they should be. “

“I thought something was off. So you’re suggesting someone wants us to think it was Harriet?”

“Obviously. Really I’m suprised you didn’t figure this out. And I’m the one lacking compassion, if you hadn’t screwed up this bad John wouldn’t have had to go through believing his sister is dead!”

“Relax, Sherlock. It’s all fine!” John was still standing there, smiling rather stupidly: ”Wait, so someone robbed my sister?”

“Mm,” Sherlock confirmed:” Your sister is a drunk so it must not be hard to snatch a few things from her in the pub when she’s in the correct state.”

“But to strip her?!”

“The clothes look old. So she might have thrown them out cleaning her closet and the killer simply picked them up.”

John nodded, believing the theory: “Indeed, she has had that dress for years.” 

“Yes. That also would have helped in giving you the illusion that it was her if needed, they had to be clothes you had seen her wear so that you’d think it’s her. Now that I think about it – forget the dumpster theory. The killer problably broke into your sister’s flat for these. Maybe snatched the keys along with other things. Call your sister to confirm.” Sherlock was back to using his old, calm, deductive voice. 

“Oh god, sis...” John groaned:” You need to take better care of yourself.”

“Tell her on the phone, John.  She won’t hear you from here.” Sherlock turned to leave: “See you when the next one comes in, Lestrade.”

“Wait. What about this one? If it’s not Harriet who is it?”

“Not important.”

“What do you mean it’s not important! Just because it isn’t John’s sister doesn’t make it meaningless!”

Sherlock turned:” Of course not, but the fact that the killer wanted us to believe she was Harry does. They picked a person at random, it didn’t matter who it was. As long as she could pass off as Miss Watson. The woman on the floor there is problably a prostitude, knowing who she is will hardly get us futher in the case. We have to wait for the next one.”

“Next one?!” Lestrade cried. 

“Yes, it’s a serial killer. Obviously.” And with those words Sherlock went to hail a cab to take himself and John back to Baker Street.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

John couldn’t press any more answers out of his mate through the drive in the cab. He should have been used to the fact that Sherlock didn’t always fill him in on everything when on a case, but he wasn’t. It bothered him. He only gathered as much as Sherlock had told the cabbie, that they were going to the hospital. He assumed it was to see Mycroft. He assumed Sherlock had figured out who’d want him dead. Would it really be Anthea? He could see his friend’s fingers tapping nervously on his knee and emotions nearly boiling over, so he didn’t ask. 

Sherlock rushed out of the door, leaving the tab for John to get. With a sigh he threw ten pounds at the man and ran after Sherlock, ignoring the confused glance he got from the sleepy looking security guy.

Sounds of breaking glass came from Mycrofts room, as John got there Sherlock had Athea pressed against the window: “Don’t touch him.” he said firmly. 

Streaks of tears were covering Anthea’s face: “I should have known you’d figure things out. Damn. I was late.” The woman sobbed in the most uncontrollable way, barely able to speak and John wondered how would have she ever been able to kill Mycroft like this. 

Sherlock sighed: “Your hints were confusing enough. I’m not sure if you wanted to warn me on or throw me off.”

“I wanted you to understand only when it was too late.” She grinned maliciously.

“Boasting is never a good thing when you try to commit a murder.” 

“Good thing you only solve them then,” John remarked drily. 

“He doesn’t always solve them!” She spat. “When they are below seven!” her eyes were filled with passionate hatered and quickly made sure no harm would come to Sherlock. 

“Your case was not a boring one.” Sherlock admitted in serious tone: “But for once I did something my brother asked of me and decided to decline it. He has always, after all, known, when I should decline a case.”

“Are you going to fill me in on what I’m missing?” John asked.

“Might as well.” Sherlock smiled: “The Yard seems to be taking its time.” he turned to Anthea: “Correct me, if I get it wrong, but I doubt I will.”  He said with a voice of a man, who was horribly certain of himself. 

“My brother rarely makes the mistake of employing people with very close family relations next to him. He prefers lonely people like himself. However with Anthea everything took a slightly unexpected turnout.” Sherlock was pacing from one end of the room to another, clearly very pleased with his storytelling. 

“Anthea was reunited with her sister after many years during which the other sibling had been in the States. They were remarkably close despite the years spent apart. Both had high-paying jobs. Sadly hers, wasn’t very legal. She was the most dangerous assassin known in the US.”

“Wrong!” she shrieked, trying to free herself from Watson’s grip and lung at Sherlock: “She was innocent!”

“Anthea believed her sister to be innocent.” Sherlock corrected: “When her sister was accused of enough murders to be sentenced to death in some of the states she came to me, asking for help.”

“She didn’t take the case,” Anthea commented bitterly. 

“I was about to tell you that your sister is in fact responsible for all the horrid crimes when my brother came to me and begged that I did not, in fear for both his own life and perhaps even mine.”

“She was innocent!” Anthea insisted. 

Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh: “Fine. Like her, love her if you will, justify her actions beyond any reason or try and protect her,but for the love of everything sane – do see the truth: She did it! She killed dozens of people and even if some might agree that these people deserved their end in such a way, it doesn’t make her any less of a murderer!” this much shouting finally seemed to shut Anthea up and she made no further comments for a while as Sherlock went on with his explanations as to how it all happened. 

“So instead Mycroft hired the woman for his purposes and this proved a very sucsessful tactic, until she herself was killed on one occasion on the job. Mycroft mostly knows when he sends people to death missions, I assume Anthea knew this and was very angry with him so he tried to kill him by using various techniques. The sniper that she had forced into shooting Mycroft was an Olympic athlete who Anthea believed to be the reak ki-“

“Wrong again.” The woman  muttered. 

“Oh?” Sherlock seemed surprised: “What did I miss this time?”

“My motive... I wasn’t trying to kill Mycroft, because I was mad at him. He saved my sister for a while. I was angry with you. Had you helped her she wouldn’t have been in the situation in the first place.”

“For the final time, she was the killer! There was nothing I could have done!” he paused for a moment:”Wait... if the goal was to get revenge on me, then why not kill me?”

“She wanted you to feel the same way she did when her sister died.” John explained, happy to realize there was an aspect to this case he had caught on before Sherlock had. In fact the slight frown on his friend’s face still told him, he hadn’t quite yet gotten it. 

“You wanted to get back to me by killing my brother?” he asked. 

The woman nodded: “The way you brought death upon my sister.”

“You think I care for my brother?” Sherlock sneered, seeming horrified by the idea. 

Anthea nodded: “Certainly, by the way he is always looking after you, taking care of you. You both care in your own ways, but you are clearly very close.”

Sherlock was now simply laughing, a very cold, inhuman laugh:”You think my brother cares for me?! My brother who has been calling me stupid all my life?”

John seemed slightly startled by the reaction and was really glad when he heard the sound of police sirens, which meant that they could leave soon enough. 

It was late in the evening and John and Sherlock were sitting in Baker street sipping tea. They hadn’t spoken of the case, although John was slightly bothered by what he had heard Sherlock say. He had never even considered that there might have been a time in the man’s life when he thought of himself as stupid. Sherlock had his faults and he seemed aware of them, but he was still brilliant in so many ways. John’s phone buzzed and his face lit up. Sherlock knew that smile: “Mary?”

John nodded: “Coming home tomorrow morning.” he got up from his chair and said that he better leave now and get things all set: “Take care of your brother.” John advised.

Sherlock was sure Mycroft wouldn’t come by much even when he was feeling better and he certainly wouldn’t live here anymore, seeing as that had all been John’s idea and John would now be, once again, busy spending lovely family time with Mary. Nevertheless he nodded and told Sherlock to wish Mary all the best, even putting on a carefree smile for his friend. With a final desperate attempt of keeping his friend around for a bit longer Sherlock marked that it was very cold outside and Mary wouldn’t be arriving before noon so John might stay the night. The other however, declined, admitting that he had left their place at a rather messy state and needed to clean up. 

When John left Sherlock followed him with his gaze from the window, smoking a cigarette. However the effects of nicotine weren’t as strong as he would have liked and he turned to some of the heavier stuff he luckily had managed to hide. The great detective was lying on the couch and with his final clear thoughts he concluded that the only thing worse than staying at Baker street with his brother was being here alone. Especially when in the past week he had gotten stupidly used to living with John again. Even Mrs. Hudson was not around so no one stopped the man to slowly destroy bits of that one person whose life at that moment mattered very little to him, himself.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Sherlock fanfic. Yes, I am rather nervous about how in character this is, but I had a good time writing it. I wanted to write something with Sherlock & Mycroft in it together, living together, because I thought it would be funny. For some reason it seemed logical for Mycroft to have a heart attack. He seems to live a rather unhealthy( doesn't like legwork and prefers sitting down) and stressful? ( Is the British goverment?) lifestyle.  
> Then I thought of adding Harriet and this case came along. I know I get nowhere near the brilliance of either Gatiss, Moffat or Doyle. In fact I'm rather afraid that this comes as in an insult somehow, but I tried my best.  
> Comments are well-awaited.


End file.
